. . .Rochester, New York, man – not Rochester, Minnesota,” the mid-40-ish, athletically thin, short, light-brown-haired, green-eyed Caucasian American man barked from a well-worn, swivel-type office chair. “Now, do I look like I came from the Mayo Clinic?” Mayonnaise balm for cranial sutures? Why’d I think of that? Need to start writing this stuff down. Maybe I could get something published like that lucky dog Paul did. Something in my new alphabet. / Este hombre se ve demacrado. [Spanish for ‘This man appears gaunt.’] “You look like you need a drink, my friend,” the nearly bald, portly, 50-ish Bolivian American retorted. ¿Es él anoréxico? [Spanish for ‘Is he anorexic?’] “You’re always thinking about cerveza fría, [Spanish for ‘cold beer’] Jorge.” A beer or three sure would be nice tonight. Jorge chuckled. “It’s very good in this hot weather, Bill.” [It was already 95º Fahrenheit (35º Celsius) at 2:02 PM in Bismarck, North Dakota on Saturday, July. . . Read More